


Thanksgiving

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: The Big Chill (1983)
Genre: Coming Out, Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, The Good Universe Where They're Together And Nobody Dies, it doesn't go great so fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 01:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: Alex has been bringing Michael home for the holidays for a while. This time, he kind of needs his parents to know he's Bringing Michael Home.





	Thanksgiving

The first time he’d brought Michael home, they’d slept in his childhood bedroom-- in his old bed, which wasn’t roomy for Alex all on his own, let alone with six-four-and-a-half Michael, but while his folks had suggested the sofa in the den, they hadn’t insisted. Michael had just lost both parents, was still just a college student who had to struggle not to fall behind in his classes while arranging so much, because there was no one else to do it. Nothing about his needing someone to cling to seemed out of place when it was fresh.

 

The second time, they’d already unfolded the den sofa and made it up as a bed, cheerfully suggested that Michael would be comfortable there, could watch TV late if he liked, that it would certainly be easier than trying to squeeze into Alex’ old bed. Alex, just as cheerfully, said he was on board with watching TV late, and a folded out sofa had more than enough room to sleep two, when his old bed could barely really sleep one, even if they’d made it work before.

 

The fourth or fifth time, his old bedroom was a proper guest room. He’d brought Michael back with him, ignoring both the folded-out sofa and the consternation of his mother. She’d made a point of saying there was enough room that they didn’t need to share, and he’d only been able to come up with ‘we’re used to it now’.

 

Which was true, anyway. At some point, they’d drifted into sharing a bed, living in the co-op. At some point it had become more than habit. They’d had separate rooms at first, they’d had the jack-and-jill bathroom between them, and the doors were almost never really closed. Now, college behind them, an apartment of their own, farther from his parents’ house than he’s lived before, they have a single bedroom, dominated by an enormous bed, and if it was any bigger he’d have to climb over it to get to his side instead of going around, and he wouldn’t be able to open his sock drawer. They have an en suite bathroom where the door is always open. It’s hard to explain the anxiety he feels over the closed door to the guest bathroom in his parents’ house, when Michael is on the other side. 

 

It wasn’t an arrangement they discussed. It just sort of happened. Going from rooming together freshman year to moving into the same co-op, it seemed… not like an invasion of privacy, to leave it open. They’d seen each other naked, more than seen each other naked, but even when that hadn’t been a thing between them they had changed in each other’s company or wound up showering together-- not together-together, until later at the co-op, but in the dorm showers. It hadn’t been anything at all to stand over the same sink together while brushing teeth or shaving, to wander in and duck back out while the room was in use, if the door was ajar. Eventually they were showering together-- together-together, crammed into the narrow tub, with Michael having to duck to be lower than the showerhead-- more often than they were showering apart. 

 

And it was safe-- is safe-- if the door was ajar. Neither of them could make a really terrible mistake if the door was open and they were together, or together-ish. Hearing Michael in his-their room was sometimes the only thing that could break that contemplation, disrupt that downward spiral and pull Alex back. It wasn’t enough to think about him, it wasn’t enough to think about anyone-- or to think about  _ everyone _ . But it’s enough to hear him out there, listening to music or trying to write or making the bed and tidying up laundry. 

 

Having to close the door here means not being able to hear Michael. Worse than facing the occasional despair-drenched morning without being able to hear Michael going about daily life is facing the thought of Michael, despair-drenched and in the bathroom alone. 

 

It’s not something they’ve talked much about. Alex doesn’t know how to talk about it. It’s too big a thing and no one else understands it. He knows if he said the wrong thing in front of the wrong person, he’d be chucked into the nuthouse before he could explain himself any better. They’d blow it out of proportion. They’d focus on all the wrong things. They’d worry too much and it wouldn’t help.

 

He’d seen himself in Michael right away. They met at orientation, found each other in a sea of people, looking for whoever they were going to room with and hoping it would work out. The two of them, it worked out. They saw each other in a focus other people lacked, the tiredness. The sadness-- or worse-- that they masked from the world. Michael’s sense of humor was sharper, and he had a brutal honesty about everything but his own pain, and like Alex, he thought of easing things for everyone else before he ever really thought of asking for anything for himself. Like Alex, he had little pleasures, and some days they made life worth slogging through, and some days he couldn’t enjoy even those, but when all the joy went out of life, they at least had each other. Some days they retreated from the world and other days they dragged each other out into it, but they had each other.

 

They might not talk even to each other, on the worst days, but they were  _ there _ .

 

They’ve been out of college a while now-- he’s closer to twenty-five than to twenty. He has a job he cares about with a non-profit that doesn’t really pay, and he picks up work he doesn’t care about, but it’s honest and it does. Michael freelances. Michael still has the insurance money, and the money from selling his parents’ house, that he insists is  _ theirs _ . And it wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t say ‘ours’ the way that he does, if he didn’t get that look over it. And anyway, Alex had worked as hard as Michael had to fix it up to go on the market, had worked to get everything else dealt with, all the things they put on hold until they finished school. They had worked on the house half that last summer before finishing. Slept in Michael’s old bed because he couldn’t really imagine sleeping in his parents’ room. Came back to it after graduating, fixed the yard up, navigated finding a realtor to sell it… Things he hadn’t ever thought he’d have to figure out straight out of college, but it turned out okay. The freedom it gave them to find a place they actually wanted to live, to furnish it with things that  _ fit _ them, to not abandon their dreams entirely…

 

He thinks it’s a good life. Some days he’s exhausted, some days he can’t see much good in it, but he thinks it is good even when he can’t feel that way. It’s theirs. Despite the drops in mood and the unwanted impulses, it’s a life he wants to stick around in for as long as he can. On a bad day, not a lot can reach him, but on a good one it doesn’t take much. The light coming through the blinds in the bedroom to fall in stripes across Michael’s face, and the way he screws his eyes shut tight before allowing himself to wake up. How he smiles and gnaws at his lip a little every morning when Alex brings him a cup of coffee and a kiss, the view from their apartment as they eat breakfast. The clacking of Michael’s typewriter, the turquoise Olivetti, and the grateful darting smile over the second cup of coffee Alex leaves at his side, the kiss goodbye before he goes to work, the way Michael takes care of his laundry each week. The way they make each other’s lives easier, the way they divide chores or share them. Dancing in the kitchen when the right song comes on the radio, two spoons in a single carton of ice cream while watching the movie of the week. Falling asleep against Michael’s chest when he just needs to be held onto, or lying beneath him and playing with his hair until they both drift off. 

 

Of course he’s happy to be home for Thanksgiving with his parents, they missed him the years he and Michael spent it at the co-op. He likes the comfort and familiarity of it, and it’s just the four of them this year, not overwhelming, no anticipating old arguments between relatives who only see each other at the holidays. He just misses the open door. Misses being able to drag Michael down and whisper in his ear, hand sliding up his thigh waiting for that breathlessly giddy yes. They share a bed, but there are a few things missing from it, when Alex’ parents are down the hall.

 

Michael is in the guest room moving Alex’ things from his suitcase to the dresser and closet, their second day at the house. Alex is content to live out of a suitcase, and normally Michael is content to let him. Today, he’s not so content, but as agitated compulsions go, unpacking all of Alex’ things is harmless. He’d offered to do it himself, but Michael had said he was the one who wanted it done, and it’s not like he didn’t handle Alex’ clothes every week, handling trips to the laundromat while Alex was at work.

 

He’d suggested Alex ask if the two of them could do anything to help with dinner, sent him off with a kiss on the cheek, a touch to the waist, a little moment of warmth. The feeling that whatever was really agitating him, the chance to re-organize the drawers would fix it. He had a tendency to re-organize things and immediately suffer for trying to change his previous system. 

 

“Oh, Alex, good.” His mother corrals him before he can ask about help, but she doesn’t drag him from living room to kitchen. “I was wondering where you got off to.”

 

“Just back with Michael. He reminded me to ask if we could help with dinner…”

 

“Oh, that’s… that’s nice. Well, everything’s right where it should be for now but I’ll let you know. Alex… sweetie… You know your father and I worry sometimes.”

 

He feels a sudden shock, and it’s not really like a punch to the gut or a bucket of ice water, but it leaves a sinking weight in him in its wake, an indescribable new kind of fear. 

 

“Worry? About me?” He laughs. “Why would you worry about me?”

 

Just because he needs to leave the bathroom door open to shave? Just because if he had to sleep alone at night with his own thoughts he might not get out of bed in the morning? Just because he’s had a voice in the back of his head since he was eleven years old telling him it would be so easy? Just because he was maybe six the first time he knew how he’d do it, and that was before he really thought he  _ wanted _ to, and the method has changed a dozen times since, but hell, a six year old shouldn’t have a preferred method of suicide whether or not he thinks he’d ever do it.

 

“I just mean… I worry about you being alone.”

 

She says it so carefully, he wants the ground to swallow him whole. She knows, shit, she knows… she knows he can’t be alone, she knows he can’t trust himself with a locked bathroom door, that now that they’ve been together so long, that they have the apartment, he doesn’t even bother with closing the door all the way when he’s on the toilet, she knows he can’t be trusted by himself, how long has she known?

 

“You don’t need to worry, I’m not alone.”

 

“I don’t mean a roommate, Alex, I mean… when are you going to meet a nice girl? And how do you expect to… I mean, with you and Michael living out of each other’s pockets, what are you going to do when the right girl comes along?”

 

“You’re… worried about me meeting girls?”

 

It should be a relief, but instead it’s a bitter disappointment. He thought she knew him too well, but she doesn’t know him at all… 

 

“I mean I’d like to see you bring one home. You’re a grown man. You can’t… you can’t keep sharing a bed with your friend, I mean-- don’t you worry about being  _ too _ close?”

 

“No.” He shakes his head, and this… this does feel like a punch to the gut, a bucket of ice water. “No, I don’t worry about being ‘too close’, Michael’s not just some friend. He-- he’s… family.”

 

He hates the way his voice cracks, and the way he can’t commit to just calling Michael his lover, but ‘family’ isn’t any less true. Michael, who folds his socks into pairs for him on laundry day, who offers a massage when he comes home aching, because picking up construction work pays, because it works around his schedule the way some other jobs wouldn’t. Michael, who has dinner waiting on construction days, too, and who never fails to tell him when he’s proud of him. Michael, who combs his fingers through Alex’ hair when he’s under the weather, who still grins and ducks his head all shy every time Alex grabs his hand and sings to him, all the time they’ve known each other, and it makes him so happy, but then, he makes Alex so happy, and when he’s not happy at least he’s not alone.

 

“I know he doesn’t have anyone else, I’m not saying your friends shouldn’t be an important part of your life, but you have to think about what it looks like. You have to be able to put some distance between you, you have to be able to grow up and move forward with your life, meet people… Think about your future.”

 

“I’m bad at thinking about my future.” He shrugs. Trying to think too far ahead only ever makes him panic. The only thing he knows about his future is that Michael belongs in it, and that’s not what his mother wants to hear. 

 

“Well, it’s coming, whether you’re bad at thinking about it or not. You could have such a career, I know you could make a nice girl happy, you can’t let life pass you by because of Michael.”

 

There’s a creak from the hall floorboards and Alex feels the stone in his stomach sink even lower.

 

“Michael?” He turns, sees Michael come into view with a too-false cheer.

 

“Yeah? You need a hand with anything in the kitchen?”

 

“No, dear, everything’s fine.” Alex’ mother assures him.

 

“Well, if you don’t need me, I thought I might take a quick walk around the block. Work up an appetite.” He gestures towards the front door. “Won’t be long.”

 

“I’ll come with.”

 

“No-- it’s fine. You go ahead and get some family time in.” He waves Alex off, turning for the front hall and the coat rack. 

 

Alex hovers in the living room doorway, watching him go, before turning back to his mother.

 

“How could you say that? Whatever you’re worried about, how could you put it like that?”

 

“I don’t think he heard--”

 

“Of course he heard and now he can’t be in the house! Mom! I have a life! And if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be Michael’s fault, he-- he’s  _ good _ for me, he gets me to go out sometimes, he cooks for both of us when I’m too tired, how could you-- Everything I’ve ever done for Michael he’s repaid, he keeps repaying. If I’m stuck in life, it’s not Michael holding me back.”

 

“ _ Good _ for you-- He’s not a substitute for a girl.”

 

“No. He’s  _ not _ . I don’t treat him like a substitute for anything, I treat him like Michael. I’m going to go catch up to him.”

 

“Alex, you can’t--”

 

“I can’t what?” He snaps. “I can’t go for a walk around the block with my friend? Because what, because it looks like we’re too close? I need some fresh air. I’ll be back in time to set the table.”

 

He doesn’t even bother grabbing his own coat, doesn’t feel the cold as he jogs after Michael, sees him turning the corner, trudging through the wet leaves. He catches up to him, skidding a little as he grabs for his arm, and Michael turns and steadies him.

 

“Alex-- I thought you were…”

 

“Michael, I’m sorry about that. She didn’t-- I know how it came out, but--”

 

“Your mother thinks I’m keeping you stuck in the past.”

 

“She thinks… she thinks I’m not doing enough to move forward. But it’s not your fault. If she knew half of it…”

 

“Maybe we should… Maybe we should make an, an effort. To look… different, in front of your parents. Maybe I shouldn’t-- I just--” He gulps down against a little hiccup of a sob. “I don’t belong here after all, do I?”

 

“You belong with  _ me _ .” Alex lets go of Michael’s arm, taking both of his hands instead, leaning back to drag him along a little quicker. “In bed with  _ me _ . You belong where I belong. And if you don’t, then I don’t.”

 

“They’re your parents--”

 

“If they knew half of what you do for me… what you’ve tried to do for me.” With the hold on Michael’s hands and the leverage of his weight, he spins him in a circle, through a pile of leaves in a quiet front yard, pulls him in close after and grabs onto him. And anyone looking out a window or driving down the street would see a little mid-walk horseplay, young men still young enough to be allowed some leeway on a long weekend.

 

It was all anyone ever saw. If he dragged Michael down and planted a kiss on his cheek, even, it’s all anyone would see. Years he’s spent with his arm around Michael, his head on his shoulder, ruffling his hair or grabbing his ass and then laughing it off… He doesn’t like laughing it off, but what else can they do? 

 

“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Michael shrugs.

 

“You don’t.”

 

“If your parents don’t like me--”

 

“She didn’t say that.”

 

“I just…” Another little hiccup. “I always thought… Ever since-- I just… they were so good to me, and I thought… I thought it was real, I guess. But-- I mean-- I mean, I just--”

 

“If my parents have a problem because they think  _ you’re _ holding  _ me _ back, that’s… so wrong I don’t know what to do with it. If they have a problem because they think I’d be normal and settling down with a nice girl if it wasn’t for you, that’s also pretty fucked. The first time I brought you home, my parents did like you, and it was real. I don’t know why that has to change… I don’t know why they have to worry about it. I don’t want us sleeping down the hall from each other. I hated having separate rooms. I need my Michael.” He swings his arms, letting his hand brush against Michael’s. “... I need you.”

 

“I need you.” Michael nods, startles a little as he actually takes in Alex’ bare arms. “Shit, aren’t you cold?”

 

“Yeah, I’m freezing, you wanna warm me up?”

 

“Seriously, where, where’s your coat?”

 

“House.” He shrugs, leaning in, shoulder bumping against Michael’s arm. And there’s room for him in Michael’s big coat, but they wouldn’t be able to walk at a comfortable pace sharing like that. He’d put off dinner in favor of having Michael curl up in bed with him for a few minutes at least, but he’d promised to set the table. He doesn’t want to be accused of sulking like he doesn’t have a couple of damn good reasons to want to be under the covers with Michael. “I didn’t want to lose you. I mean… it’s not important.”

 

“I’m not hard to find.” Michael shrugs out of his coat. 

 

It’s big enough on him-- it swallows Alex up, and it’s not like he’s a small guy. Only a few inches shorter, and he’s more solid through. It’s the sleeves-- Alex has shorter arms even if the difference in overall height isn’t much. The sleeves fit Michael, so the coat looks like it fits even if it hangs off his shoulders and engulfs the rest of him. The body of the coat fits Alex all right, baggy but not unintentionally so, but the fact that the sleeves come halfway down his hands makes it look too big. 

 

Alex lets Michael settle it around his shoulders. Michael at least had a sweater on under it. 

 

“You do need me.” Michael tuts, walking backwards a few steps as he holds his coat around Alex.

 

“That’s what I’m saying.”

 

“Listen, big boy…”

 

He doesn’t finish, they’re both laughing now, Michael’s hands on the coat and Alex’ wrapped around Michael’s wrists, and they swing around so that Alex is walking backwards a few more steps, before they separate to walk side by side.

 

“I love you.” Alex says, head tilted back, eyes on the mottled grey clouds overhead. Michael’s coat warm around him, warmer for having been on Michael so recently. “I do. And I’ll be better, I’ll remember my coat. I’ll be better.”

 

“It’s not a big deal. I mean I want you to, but you don’t-- Don’t feel bad about it.”

 

“I’ll be better about the other stuff, too. The big deal stuff.” He lets his head list to the side, to take in Michael’s profile.  _ Handsome _ . He’d always thought so-- well, not the first moment they met, head on, when Michael had been awkward and a little goofy, and he’d liked him immediately, but he hadn’t really seen him as handsome yet. But then during the orientation, he’d turned back to him and seen him listening attentively, seen him from the side and really noticed the fullness of his lips and the shape of his nose, seen his eyelashes and the gentle shine to his dark eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead, just starting to grow it out then… How there was something delicate to him even with his strong features, masculine but a little bit pretty. And he’d filed that away mostly and not really thought about it as they got to know each other, but he’d seen it, and before very long it hit him full force, and he’s seen it ever since.  _ Handsome _ .  _ His _ .

 

He doesn’t know what he needs Michael to say, exactly. He trusts him to know what he means, about the big deal stuff. Eating, sleeping, being careful on construction sites, living. Well, so far he was one hundred percent on the last two, though he’d had to pull himself back from letting his mind wander once or twice on-site in order to keep to that. He needed to get better at some of the everyday. 

 

“I will, too.” Michael says, and that’s part of it, at least. He needs Michael to be with him there. To eat, sleep, live, always live. 

 

There’s something else he needs to hear, but getting the first part helps him find it, filtered through memories of lying on the floor of the Gold house’s living room after the accident, Peggy Lee on a creaky record player, Michael’s hand tight in his and how desperate he’d felt to reach through the veil of grief and keep him tethered. He reaches out, hand emerging from inside Michael’s coat to take his wrist.

 

“You know why I’ll be better. Tell me why.”

 

For a moment they stop, standing on the corner, roughly halfway back to the house. For a moment, Michael just looks at him, and he worries.

 

“You belong to me.” Michael says softly. “And…”

 

“You belong to me.” Alex smiles, those worries relaxing away. “Okay. And-- I mean it. So… come back home with me, and you’re mine, and no one can take that away.”

 

“Okay.” Michael whispers. They walk.

 

Setting the table is a quiet affair, until Alex’ mother makes a point of thanking Michael in particular for being so helpful.

 

“Well-- I mean, I just want to be a good guest…” He shrugs, picking up a heavy casserole dish to carry to the table, falling in with Alex.

 

“You’re a very good guest, dear. Your parents certainly raised you to be polite and helpful-- they’d be very proud of you.” She nods. 

 

Alex turns back, flashing him a smile,seeing the way his breath catches, the way his eyes look a little too wet for a moment.

 

“See?” He whispers, as they stand elbow to elbow getting the dishes arranged over the widespread assortment of trivets and hot pads. 

 

Without any other guests it means he and Michael are across from each other when they do sit down to eat, not side by side. At home, their chairs are shoved to one corner of the little kitchenette table, keeping them within easy reach. They slide into the same side of the booth in diners, knees resting together under the table, hidden from casual view. He’d miss the ability to touch, except the table isn’t wide enough to keep them completely separated. Legs as long as Michael’s especially, it’s easy enough to just rest their feet together.

 

“So, Michael, what about you?” Alex’ mother asks, with dinner underway. “Any special girl?”

 

Michael darts a look over to Alex. He’d managed to duck this question when they arrived Wednesday, they’d both talked about how work was going and Alex had fobbed off questions about his love life, changed the subject before Michael could be put on the spot.

 

“Well-- not special, no. I mean-- we go out dancing sometimes. There’s lots of, you know, of really pretty girls, in the city. Of course, when we go out, they’re usually all over Alex--”

 

“Girls like Michael.” Alex smiles, shaking his head. “They think he’s cute.”

 

“But I mean, the kind of girls you meet out dancing aren’t really serious about things. And… there’s not much point in getting serious about someone who won’t be serious about you. Dancing is fun and they’re nice and all, they just aren’t looking to settle down or anything…” Michael shrugs. 

 

She nods, with a little hum. “Well, there must be someplace where you can meet a girl who’s serious. You’re a good catch, dear. If your career keeps up and you’re smart with your money, you won’t have any trouble supporting someone-- and you’d be able to focus on your work so much more with someone taking care of you. It would be so nice for you to be taken care of.”

 

“Well… I mean…” Michael shrugs again and looks down at his plate, pushing things around. “I don’t mind doing the housekeeping, I still have plenty of time to work on articles. And then who’d take care of Alex?”

 

“Well, a wife of his own, I hope. I guess these modern city girls aren’t looking to have children, either?” 

 

“No, Mom, they all have careers. Not a single woman out there is looking to settle down and have children. Sorry to break it to you.”

 

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to realize you want kids. And a steady job, and a house, and a lovely girl who wants to take care of you. You don’t want it to be when the good ones are taken.”

 

“Your mother’s right.” His father interjects. “When I was your age… hell, you’re about as old as we were when we had  _ you _ .”

 

Alex groans.

 

“Just moved into the house, too. Had a steady job-- you’ve got a good degree, don’t tell me there’s no one hiring. All that college and all those brains, I mean, son…”

 

“We’ve been over this, I don’t mind construction and they like me-- and I need the flexibility.”

 

“We just don’t understand why you only lasted a week with a solid real job, you were qualified, they paid--”

 

“I just want to do something with my life beyond having a ‘career’.” He drains his wine glass. “Career stuff leaves me cold, that’s all. I want to make a difference in the world--”

 

“You could do that with your degree.”

 

“Real good, for real people, not… not some phony idea of doing good in the world where someone’s taking my hard work and doing who knows what with it, I know what I’m doing and I know where my work goes. And it means something to me. I don’t want to be packaged and sold. I don’t want to be told I’m making a difference in the world only to wake up wondering what it’s for, to find out I’m feeding the machine. I want to help real people, and I’m doing that. I like what I’m doing. I spent so long letting people tell me what my ‘aptitude’ was and thinking I had to follow this one path, and that doesn’t make me happy.”

 

“One of these days you’re going to realize being an adult isn’t about what makes you happy.”

 

“Oh, well, good news…” Alex slumps down in his seat a little, feels Michael’s foot rest a little more firmly against his own. 

 

“It’s about responsibilities, commitments--”

 

“What about my responsibility to the world? To my community? What about the commitments I’ve already chosen?”

 

“You’re too smart to coast through life like this. Still living with a roommate, working these dead-end jobs--”

 

“My job isn’t dead-end and if I wanted to advance in construction, I could.”

 

“Well there you have it, so why not do that?”

 

“Because then they would need me on-site all the time and I wouldn’t be able to make my non-profit job, Dad!”

 

“If you had a job that you could support yourself on--”

 

“And another thing, I like living with Michael. It has nothing to do with how well I can support myself, which is fine, I’m fine, but I like not living alone!”

 

“At your age--” 

 

“So how about that football?” Michael blurts out, desperate and just slightly too-loud.

 

“Sorry.” Alex flashes him an apologetic smile. 

 

“Let’s just have a nice meal. Let’s say something we’re thankful for, put ourselves in more comfortable chairs.” His mother says, sending a pointed look across the table to her husband. “Dear?”

 

“Oh. You know. We’ve all got our health.” He shrugs, raps gently on the table. “Thankful for that.”

 

Alex thinks of several things he could say he’s thankful for, all of which would get his mother despairing over him and his father telling him not to be a smart-ass, nobody likes a smart-ass. Alex has been a smart-ass all his life, and if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that everyone likes one.

 

“I’m thankful for the food.” He says. He says it every year, and most years she lets it slide without sighing at him over it or demanding he come up with something real-- after all, it is real. But there’s a sigh this year. An unspoken ‘try harder’, in the wake of the unpleasantness. “And that I have people who care about me.”

 

That appeases his parents, anyway. More than that, Michael smiles warmly at him from across the table, taps their feet together again. Michael… who cares about him, who cares  _ for _ him, who deserves better than being called the roommate who keeps them both from moving on with their lives. 

 

“And I am thankful for my family. It’s nice to have everyone around the table every once in a while.” She says. 

 

“Well, I’m just-- I’m very thankful to be here.” Michael shrugs, looking down at his plate again. “I really am.”

 

For a while, it works. Everyone’s calmed down, Alex’ career doesn’t come up again, his dad actually talks about football for a bit, and then they briefly discuss what other relatives are doing, and if anyone’s visiting over Christmas.

 

“I was thinking…” Michael says, hesitating a moment. “And I don’t want you to think I haven’t appreciated your hospitality over the years more than I can say! But I mean… it got to be a habit when it was over the college breaks, me coming home with Alex over the holidays, and I’ve certainly enjoyed-- It’s just, well-- I mean, Thanksgiving means a lot to me, to spend today with people, and not alone. But Christmas isn’t really… I mean I do appreciate the place you’ve made for me, but this year I might, you know… I might go get Chinese with some, um, some people. Get some writing done.”

 

“What?” Alex drops his fork. “Since when?”

 

“It’s not a big deal--”

 

“It’s a big deal to me. If this is because of earlier--”

 

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, it’s not-- I mean, you’ll have some family time and then you’ll be back in the city for New Years’ and we’ll have that.”

 

“ _ You’re _ family. I don’t want just New Years’. I’m not leaving you alone over the holidays.” He presses. Can only think of Michael, alone, the skies grey, the cold that seeps in even in a good building, the way the empty feeling gets keener when the nights get longer, can only think of the bathroom door open to no signs of life and warmth, can only think of how big the bed will seem if they aren’t in it together.

 

“Alex, you don’t need to be so dramatic about it.” His mother tuts. “Michael can make his own decisions. And Michael, if you change your mind of course there’s always a place for you.”

 

“He’ll change his mind.”

 

“Alex…”

 

“We’re not spending the holidays apart. I mean--” He bites back several words he’s not going to say in front of his mother. “ _ Michael _ . You know I can’t sleep--”

 

He sees Michael’s eyes widen when the words tumble out, and maybe he should have just saved his impulse control for that, because surely an emphatically voiced ‘fuck’ would shock his mother less than this. But now that much is out, and so what’s stopping the rest?

 

“What do you mean you can’t sleep?” She cuts in. 

 

“I mean I can’t sleep without Michael.” Alex says, doesn’t take his eyes off him to turn to her. “I mean all this time you keep asking when I’m going to bring a girl home, and Michael’s the girl.”

 

“Gee, thanks.” 

 

“You know what I mean. I mean--” He turns to his mother. “I mean I’ve _ been _ bringing him home. I mean I love him.”

 

“We never should have let you share a bed.” She pinches her nosebridge, looks away.

 

“You never could have stopped us! It didn’t start here, it didn’t start because he stayed in my room that first time, he stayed with me because he was my boyfriend, because I wasn’t about to let him be alone. We’ve been together a long time.”

 

It’s a slight exaggeration. They were friends who fooled around a lot at the time, they hadn’t put any kind of label on it or discussed commitment. It would be about a year before they would use those words. But it feels right to defend their relationship as such, anyway. He’d still loved Michael even if they didn’t talk about it romantically then, Michael had still loved him. They still shared a bed when he went with Michael to stay in his family’s house a few days and deal with things. He’d still held his hand during the memorial service, which had had to be some time after the burial, which he hadn’t been there for… 

 

“I’m not hearing this. I’m not hearing this.” His mother rises first, pacing.

 

“If this is a joke, it’s not a very good one.” His father adds. 

 

“It’s not a joke, it’s my life!” Alex pushes himself back from the table, getting to his feet as well.  “Michael’s my life-- He takes care of me, he’s good to me. All the things you keep telling me you want a girl to do--”

 

“A girl, yes, Michael’s not a girl.”

 

“I’m very much aware of that, Dad, I’m more aware of that than anyone else.”

 

“Alexander Marshall, don’t give me that tone right now, this is not the time.”

 

“Alex…” 

 

“Sorry.” He says, though the apology is for Michael and not his parents. “But he does take care of me. He cooks, he does the laundry, when I come home tired from the construction site, he rubs my shoulders and he tells me I could quit and he could support me, and I just… And he understands me. And if a girl did all those things I’d still never love her the way I love Michael. And I’m going to marry him.”

 

And his mother stifles some little upset sound behind a hand clapped over her mouth, and his father scoffs, derisive and disgusted, but Michael… Michael just gasps, soft and surprised.

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“I am. I’m going to marry him.” He looks across the table to Michael again. Michael, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, hand floating up to cover his heart. Whatever he’s lost, in this moment, it’s worth it.

 

“He’s a man.”

 

“You can’t marry Michael!”

 

“Yet.”

 

“He’s a  _ man _ .” His father repeats.

 

“He’s  _ my _ man.”

 

“It’s against the law!” 

 

“So is pot, but I started doing that in college, too.” Alex says, and Michael smothers a surprised little snort of laughter. Which is all he wants, really, they could use something in all this that they can laugh at, or at least laugh at later.

 

“That is not funny, you tell your mother you don’t smoke pot.”

 

“Sure, fine, I’m straight.” He rolls his eyes. “Happy?”

 

“No, we’re not happy, your mother and I are not  _ happy _ to learn our only son is some… homosexual dope fiend! Is this why you don’t have a real job, is it the drugs?”

 

“ _ What _ ? No-- No! It’s not pot, jeez, Dad… I can’t believe this is the conversation we’re having right now.”

 

“Your mother and I don’t want to be having this conversation, either, but here we are. You only have yourself to blame for that.”

 

“I mean I tell you I’m in love and I’m actually kind of happy with my life and you want to lecture me about smoking pot! I guess I was supposed to lie to you for the rest of your lives about why I wasn’t bringing a girl home. And then we’d never have to have this conversation.”

 

“We didn’t raise you like this.” His mother says, voice watery.

 

“Well I’m like this. I’m a homosexual dope fiend!” He spreads his arms. “No-- Mom, I’m-- it’s, I’m joking, don’t  _ cry _ , I’m  _ not _ . I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said--”

 

“You’ll never get married, you’ll never have children… Who’s going to take care of you when you’re old?”

 

“Me, I’m going to.” Michael gets to his feet at last, still half in a daze as he makes his way around the table, taking Alex’ arms as he reaches him. “I am, I will. We’ve got money set aside, and-- and I will. Always.”

 

“Marry me someday?”

 

He nods, hands sliding up to Alex’ shoulders, Alex’ arms wrapping around his waist. 

 

“We need to move Michael to the couch.” Alex’ mother says.

 

“Out of this house.” His father counters.

 

“Great, we’ll pack.” Alex squeezes tighter.

 

“We’ll put Michael on the couch, Alex, you’re not going anywhere, it’s  _ Thanksgiving _ . I am not letting anyone ruin Thanksgiving.”

 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch. Mom, you’re not putting him on the couch, I told you, I can’t-- I am not  _ going _ to-- sleep without him. If the fact that I’m in love with Michael is enough to ruin Thanksgiving, that’s… I mean what do you want me to do?”

 

“I want you to give this up, give this up now, this-- ridiculous idea you have about Michael, wherever it comes from.”

 

“Obviously it comes from Michael. It wasn’t Alex’ idea.”

 

“Yeah, Dad.” Alex huffs. “Michael took one look at this face and couldn’t help himself, he had to seduce me. That’s exactly what happened.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with your face, it’s my favorite face.” Michael says under his breath, with all the fond familiarity of an old argument. His hand comes up to Alex’ cheek, hesitant in front of his parents.

 

“Oh, you’re a perfectly handsome young man, I wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself like that.” His mother tuts at the exact same moment. 

 

“The  _ idea _ that I have about Michael is that we’re in love and we understand each other and he takes care of me. The idea  _ you _ seem to have that this is something I was tricked or influenced into is insulting, honestly. It’s insulting to me, that you think I don’t have any say in my own love life, it’s insulting to Michael, that you think he would ever take advantage of me-- it’s insulting to me that you would insult Michael! We made the decision to be together, it wasn’t one person chasing another, it was two people who were better together than they were apart, why is that so hard to understand?”

 

“He’s a  _ man _ !”

 

“Come on, we’re not getting past this any time soon.” Alex tugs gently, pulling Michael towards the door. “Let’s get some quiet.”

 

“Alex--” His mother takes a step after him. “Don’t. Let’s just-- let’s try to sit down and be reasonable.”

 

“I can’t be reasonable about you asking me to give Michael up. There’s nothing reasonable about you asking me to give him up. I’m tired. And I don’t want to fight about this. I just want some quiet. And I owe my boyfriend an apology.”

 

“I don’t want you alone with him.” 

 

“I  _ live _ with him. If I can’t be alone with him here, I’ll just go be alone with him at home.”

 

“Alex!” 

 

He ignores any attempt at stopping them, leading Michael back to bed, where he locks the door-- contemplates shoving something up against it and writes the thought off as ridiculous. Instead, he turns his focus to Michael, stripping him out of his sweater, then the shirt beneath, undresses them both quickly down to their undershirts before dragging Michael to bed, so that he can hold him close.

 

“I’m sorry.” He groans. “I’m sorry… Michael, fuck, I’m sorry. I just… I just wanted them to  _ understand _ . I don’t want anyone else in my life. I love  _ you _ .”

 

“I love you.” Michael echoes, burying himself down against Alex’ chest, clinging tight to him, voice watery. “Alex… Alex, Alex… They  _ hate _ me.”

 

“They don’t hate you, they just wish I didn’t love you.”

 

“They think I made you like this…”

 

“You didn’t. Michael… you know and I know, what we’re like, why we-- we need each other. My parents need time to accept that my life isn’t like theirs.”

 

“I don’t want to be the reason your parents don’t talk to you. I mean… you only have one set of parents, and-- and--”

 

“And they only have one kid. So if they don’t want to be alone in their old age with no one to take care of them, then they’ll suck it up. They can have two sons now or they can have zero, those are the choices. If they want to have Christmas as a family, that means both of us. If they’re not ready, then… we’ll stay home. We’ll go out for Chinese, we’ll go out to the movies.” He brings Michael’s hand up to his lips. “I’m not going anywhere without you. Hell… Michael, I’m not even comfortable with a bathroom door between us, how do you think I’ll survive miles?”

 

“You think they’ll change their minds?”

 

“Yeah. They… they don’t really hate you, not  _ you _ . They… hate the idea of us having sex. And… I hope they get over that and I hope they say Christmas is on. I hope they remember how much they liked you… they  _ did _ . I guess I thought… if they knew how happy you made me, they would just accept it. But… I can’t explain how happy you make me without talking about how… how unhappy I get. And they wouldn’t understand. They’d be… they’d be scared. And I can’t… I can’t tell them that. How bad it gets.”

 

Michael reaches up, running his fingers through Alex’ hair. “I know what you mean. I… I never knew how to talk about it. I was always afraid to.”

 

“They’d freak out… and that doesn’t help.”

 

“I just… They were… my parents were so afraid of not giving me a good life, and it hurt them so much when I was unhappy for a reason, I never knew how to tell them sometimes I was unhappy for no reason. I couldn’t.” Michael shudders, and pulls his glasses off with one shaky hand, so that he can press his face even closer to Alex’ chest. “It was… something to protect them from. I just… ever since I was a kid I knew it was something I had to protect them from.”

 

“Yeah.” Alex swallows. “Yeah, that’s it. Knowing… they didn’t understand and it would scare them, and… You have to protect them. And… I didn’t want them thinking I had to be put in a hospital, there’s that, too.”

 

“I don’t… I never worried about that, just… just how they’d feel about it. I didn’t want them to think they failed me, they never failed me…” Michael sniffles, clinging tighter to him. “I hope they knew that, I… I hope they knew--”

 

“Of course they did. You… you had a really good relationship with your parents. And… you went home as often as anyone could expect, and you made calls, you… You didn’t give them anything to worry about, baby. You know that.”

 

Alex gets a hand under his chin, guiding him out of hiding so that he can kiss his forehead. Something he can never do when they’re on their feet, and there’s something nice about being able to do it now… to take care of him.

 

“You shouldn’t be comforting me. You-- I should be--”

 

“Shh… my folks have time to come around. I don’t… Parent stuff, I get it. It’s hard for you… doesn’t go away in just a couple years. Anyway, I like comforting you. Makes me feel like I can do something right in this world…”

 

“You do a lot.” Michael shakes his head. “You do so much. All you want to do is take care of the world, I should be able to take care of you.”

 

“You always take care of me.” Alex smiles gently, cupping Michael’s face in both hands, thumbs stroking arcs across his cheekbones. 

 

“Well-- Well, let me make you feel better, what would make you feel better?”

 

He feels the shift in an instant, like someone setting a match to a gas jet deep inside him. It’s not a replacement for soft and gentle, it just lights it on fire with him, and he watches Michael’s eyes darken. The offer had been general, Michael would have done whatever Alex asked him, but now they just both know what that is.

 

It’s what Alex had offered and given at last, in the Gold’s house, when Michael had desperately asked to feel something else, anything else, to forget himself for even a moment, to be alive, and so Alex had pushed him down to his bed as gently as possible, undressed him and touched him, asked him if this was okay, and they’d both cried but it was the best thing he could have done. To remind Michael he  _ was _ alive, it was the best thing he could have done. Just like some nights he doesn’t know about himself, until Michael reaches out and touches him, and makes him think he can make it through another bad spell.

 

It’s not as corny as it sounds whenever he tries to put it in words, really. And hell, he  _ loves _ Michael, loves him so strong and so hard he doesn’t half know how a person can walk around with this feeling sitting in his chest, but it isn’t loving Michael that does it, it’s just the way he feels after sex, it clears the bats out of the attic a little somehow, it lets him look at life with the lights turned back on. Other things Michael does that help are more sentimental and emotionally driven than the sex, in terms of how the help, but… well, is it such a crime to like sex for unsentimental reasons, when it’s still with the man you’re sentimental for?

 

Alex still has his parents, they hadn’t even kicked him out of the house, it’s not really the same as the desperate, teary lovemaking when Michael had suffered so keenly. There’s still a parallel there, but it’s not exact. Maybe they’re both thinking of it. He thinks so, the way Michal rises up only to unbutton his shirt so slowly, hands just shaky enough to fumble one button, but not all of them, and steadier when he spreads them across Alex’ bare chest.

 

“Is this okay?” He whispers, and Alex thinks they must both be remembering the same thing. 

 

He nods, one hand covering Michael’s, keeping it over his heart a moment. 

 

Alex is debating a few things. How closely he’ll police himself for sound, if he’ll try to just keep talking normally or if he’ll try to be silent. If they should trade blowjobs while holding as still as they can when on the receiving end, to keep the mattress from creaking. How thick the walls are, how obvious it would be… He doesn’t think it would help his case in the future for his parents to overhear his active sex life in full swing, doesn’t imagine parents want to think about that stuff any more than anyone wants to imagine their own conception. He doesn’t want them to hold it against Michael, who only wants to make him happy anyway, who only wants to take care of him, who only wants to give him a reason every day to keep living and the accountability of someone needing him in return. 

 

He just wants to be able to enjoy it, though, when he and Michael both need the comfort, and  _ fuck _ , but how hard it must be for Michael as well, to be treated like this by the people who took him in, became his second set of parents when he’d needed them… How you could do that and then cast a guy out, Alex doesn’t understand. How anyone could look at Michael-- especially Michael then-- and not love him, he really doesn’t understand. How you could love a kid, one you had and raised from birth or one you took in when he was skinny and heartbroken and eager to latch onto you, to need you caring for him, and then stop loving him, well Alex really doesn’t understand that. But he can push it out of mind when Michael slides his glasses off, sets them to the side, and kisses him.

 

He could push the end of the world out of mind for Michael kissing him like this.

 

The way he dives in, pours himself into it, the way his lower lip slides between Alex’, the plushness of it, how he shifts to leave Alex mouthing at his upper lip instead, the sound of it and the way his breathing comes when they get rolling, the feeling behind it all… When he pulls back so they can both catch their breaths, and his breath so warm against Alex’ face, their faces still pressed so close together, the way he nuzzles at Alex’ cheek, rests their foreheads together, the way he can’t leave space between them even when they aren’t actively kissing. 

 

If the world ever goes fucking nuts and nukes get launched, Alex is spending his last night on earth kissing Michael. Until they’re ash and shadow, kissing him. Lying below him or on top of him, hands roaming, bodies rolling together, making love over and over again until the flash of light takes them. He wouldn’t even think about it until it was over. 

 

That’s another thing Michael understands. They’re at nine minutes to midnight and it used to be twelve, and Alex thinks about the Doomsday Clock every single day of his life. He’s never told his parents why he can’t just use his degree. He’d told Michael. He knows he’s talked about it with Harold and Sam before, though not sober, and he doesn’t know how much other friends know. He’s never talked about it with anyone he’s met since college, most of whom don’t know he could have gotten a doctorate in physics if it wasn’t for the knowledge that all the good intentions in the world wouldn’t stop someone from taking his work and blazing a trail to hell, and hadn’t history taught them that? 

 

He could work on ‘harmless’ problems and someone would still be able to take it, twist it, apply it somewhere else, because the laws that govern the way the universe works are constant. 

 

He wants to heal the world, but he can’t explain that to his parents, who can’t see the problems he sees. 

 

But Michael… 

 

It had been before they’d graduated. Lying in bed together. That was when he’d first confessed he wouldn’t take the fellowship, wouldn’t continue his education towards a doctorate, wouldn’t work in the field he’d just dedicated a chunk of his life to studying. 

 

He hadn’t wanted to be James Chadwick, hooked on sleeping pills just to be able to lie down at night with the knowledge of what he’d been part of unleashing on the world, or Oppenheimer, definitely hadn’t wanted that, and he’d laid there in Michael’s arms, they’d jerked each other off just minutes before, seeking some relief from the general stresses of the day, and he’d… he’d said ‘I just want to heal the world’, and Michael…

 

Michael had looked at him a long moment, with the widest eyes, with his mouth softly hanging open, with undisguised wonder. Michael had kissed him and within a few minutes more, was sucking his cock, and then he’d written that article… had probably been outlining it during the blowjob-- or maybe not, he’d gotten himself off while he was giving it, said shyly after that he couldn’t help himself. But after that, and after some heavy sleep, he had…

 

He’d written that article, and Alex had been embarrassed, couldn’t stand other people talking about it even to hear they thought he was making a fair enough choice for his future. Most people didn’t think so. 

 

It had been so glowing. At first he’d seen it and been afraid anyone who read it would know Michael loved him, and then when no one thought that, he’d been upset they couldn’t. 

 

And Michael had said ‘do you hate it?’, and Alex had dragged him to bed to promise he didn’t, not really, only hated everyone else seeing it and how everyone made such a big deal about his life and his decisions except for the one thing he desperately wanted to be able to talk about… He’d been embarrassed, but he didn’t hate it, he’d loved it, he loves it. He has it scrapbooked and now  _ Michael _ is the one who’s embarrassed over it, but…

 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He only knows Michael does love him, and if he’d had any doubt left then, he would have lost it. He only knows if the clock ticks down to seven minutes, to five, to two, if they find themselves on the stroke of midnight, then all he needs is to be in Michael’s arms. To know he’d never even inadvertently sped those minutes, and then to be kissed just like this until the world falls away.

 

“Mm, I can feel you thinking…” Michael hums the words out against Alex’ lips. “What are you worrying about, honey?”

 

“Nothing, baby, nothing.” He nips at him gently. “Just about how we’re all going to die. Someday.”

 

“Oh. That’s good.” Michael laughs. “Nothing really upsetting, then.”

 

“I wanna go out like this. Underneath you.” Alex laughs as well. He has a point-- it could have been worse, he could have been worried about the possibility of being disowned. “Making time until the end of time.”

 

“That’s very romantic.” Michael snorts. “I’d like that… We’d never notice the world ending around us, just… your nails digging into my back and your lips against mine… and you, hot and hard for me, what else matters?”

 

He sits up briefly, to shrug out of his sweater and throw it to the floor, and then he lets Alex strip him of the shirt he’d had on underneath, they get each other’s pants off in a hurry, and Alex gets a hand around Michael immediately. 

 

There’s something about him like this… not fully hard, but not soft, either, somewhere between a third and a half of the way there just from kissing and grinding against each other fully clothed. Something about seeing the effect he has on him, and then getting to take him the rest of the way there. Getting to stroke him a little too gently until he whines for things to speed up, kissing Alex’ neck even as he complains. The way they usually wind up laughing at something around this point, teasing and toying with each other to draw things out when they have the luxury of time… The way Michael threatens to leave a great big purple mark right where everyone will see it, and never does-- though he leaves little bites and bruises at hips and thighs, shoulders and collarbones, decorating Alex in little spots of pinks and violets, and pale reds that fade to sickish yellows and then melt away to nothing. And then, all over again, the process. 

 

They mark each other up about even, of course. Sometimes it’s only one of them leaving the marks and sometimes it’s both of them. Sometimes, Alex will leave a mark to just peek out over Michael’s collar, an inescapable claim for a day or two. 

 

He gets a handful of Michael’s hair and angles him just so, and gets to work. A collared shirt would hide it, at least enough. A sweater without would show it off. He knows what he’s hoping for in his heart of hearts, and he also knows what Michael is going to put on before leaving the bedroom. And it’s okay… if things were the other way around, he’d hide the hickey, too. Impulsive as he is, he’d do that, if he were trying to keep the peace with his lover’s parents. 

 

He encourages Michael to return the favor, as they both try to keep still and quiet except for the hand moving between them and the kisses they suck against each other’s throats. 

 

“Mm-- oh-- Alex, promise, ah, promise me…” Michael sighs hot against him, against the still-wet skin, the mark he’d laved over. 

 

“Anything, baby, name it… name it, it’s yours.”

 

“You have a shirt with a collar for tomorrow, right?”

 

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Go to town, I’ve got one.”

 

And Michael does, boy how he does, muffling his own sounds against Alex’ throat, sucking at him, teeth and tongue and everything, so that Alex has to stuff his hand half in his mouth to keep quiet without being able to reach Michael to muffle himself against, but it’s so good, Michael’s hand around them both now, Michael’s mouth against him and the vibration of each silenced moan…

 

Michael kisses him after, three, four, five fervent kisses on the lips, shaky in the aftermath. Alex cleans them up with a couple tissues, and they lie side by side a while, space between them, touching but not everywhere. Loose caresses traded alongside warm smiles, Michael’s foot caressing his, Michael’s little laugh when Alex pushes the hair back from his face and grins and mouths ‘beautiful’ at him. Michael, shaking his head, mouthing back ‘you’.

 

“I love you, you know.” Alex says. 

 

“I know. I love you. More than anything.”

 

“I know.” He touches Michael’s cheek, rolls to lie against him, wrap around him, cuddle him completely. “Nothing’s ever going to come between us, ever. It’s you and me, baby. Forever and always, you and me.”

 

“You and me.” Michael echoes.

 

He falls asleep. After the heavy emotion, Alex isn’t surprised. Michael doesn’t always fall right asleep after sex, doesn’t normally, but combined with an emotional day? He’s out like a light once they fall silent, and Alex cuddles with him a little longer, before he pulls on pants and a tee shirt and slips out, leaving Michael tucked in and snoring softly.

 

He runs into his mother when he’s in the kitchen getting pie, he hadn’t expected to. He sees when she notices the hickey, the one he’d promised he’d hide in the morning, but then, he really didn’t think he needed to for this quick trip… He sees the disapproval cross her face before she turns to the sink to do some dishes.

 

“You want me to wash some of those later?” He asks, cutting a piece of pie big enough for two and managing somehow to slide it onto his plate. He grabs two forks. “You can leave some heavy duty scrubbing for me.”

 

“I’ll get it.”

 

“Mom--”

 

“I’ll get it.” She repeats, not looking at him, voice tight.

 

“Michael’s good for me, Mom, and I know you and Dad have a hard time accepting who I am, but just… try to think of it as… I’ve found someone you  _ know _ is responsible and trustworthy, who just wants to take care of me… He does take care of me. I love him. He makes me happy. All I want is for you to try to… to not just react because he’s a man. Think about who he  _ is _ , you  _ know _ Michael. And Michael, he likes you and Dad so much, he-- he just wants you to like him.”

 

“I don’t agree with what you’re doing with your life, Alex. And I don’t know if I can forgive Michael for dragging you into this--”

 

“He didn’t.”

 

“I don’t know.” She repeats. “This is difficult for your father and I, you know, and… it’s like we don’t know you.”

 

“Do you want to?” Alex frowns down at his plate. “Michael and I are a package deal. If you love me--”

 

“‘If’, how could you say ‘if’?”

 

“Because I told you I was happy and you asked me to throw away the reason for it. Because I told you I had someone who takes care of me, which is what you said you wanted me to have, and you told me I was wrong. Because you both… you talk about throwing Michael away like it wouldn’t destroy me. Like you can’t think of me as a fully-formed person, an adult with an adult relationship, who has real feelings. The things Michael and I feel are just as real as what you and Dad felt when you were my age. We’re making a home together, supporting each other, we’re in love. So if you love me, you’ll accept Michael. If you want both of us for Christmas, you’ve got a month to call and tell us so. We’re driving home in the morning, and… and if you can’t both be good to him, then I guess that’s where we’ll stay, because I’m not going to let him be hurt… I’m not going to let him spend the holidays alone and I’m not going to ask him to come here if you can’t treat him how you always used to before you knew. I’m all the family Michael has, Mom, he-- he needs me to protect him. If you ask me to choose between you, then I choose Michael. So don’t ask me to choose.”

 

“I’ll talk to your father. But I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

 

“Well. You can always call, if you figure it out.” He says, grabbing the whipped cream from the fridge, taking that and the pie back to bed. 

 

Michael is still sleeping, spread across the whole bed, and he snuffles and shifts when Alex nudges at his shoulder.

 

“Wake up, baby, got you some pie.” He smiles, and once Michael rolls back to his side, Alex makes himself comfortable, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, waiting for Michael to rise. “You want some whipped cream?”

 

“Mm, yeah, give me some.” Michael pushes himself to lounge, rather than to sit, and Alex covers their pie with whipped cream before setting the can aside on his nightstand. 

 

“Let’s save the rest of that for later...” He leers, getting a bite, offering it. Michael laughs, leaning in to accept the bite, taking the second fork so that he can return the favor.

 

“Dirty.” Michael teases. “Naughty boy, you…”

 

“We might as well… We’ll go home in the morning. Might get a little more fun in before we go. C’mon… you like whipped cream.”

 

“Mm,  _ maybe… _ ” 

 

“You know you like it. You love it.” Alex grins, leaning in after him, and offering him a fingerful of the whipped cream instead of another bite. “I remember last time. You couldn’t get enough…”

 

“ _ I _ couldn’t get enough? That’s not how I remember it, I remember  _ you _ going for more a few times…”

 

Well, he can’t argue with that… not that it was just whipped cream he couldn’t get enough of. 

 

“We won’t if you don’t feel like it. But we can. We might as well.”

 

“I don’t want your parents overhearing any of the things I’d do to you with a can of whipped cream.”

 

“If we could keep our voices down enough for the co-op…” Alex laughs, feeding Michael another bite. “Well… maybe we’ll just have to buy ourselves a can of whipped cream at home, where we don’t have to worry about anyone…”

 

“Mm, promise?”

 

“Any time you want it, baby.” He grins. He might have gotten dressed to go retrieve some pie, but Michael is still entirely on display, and by the time dessert is out of the way, Alex thinks they’d both be ready for another round if the mood was right. 

 

He wouldn’t mind another round… wouldn’t mind spraying whipped cream across that body, licking it off… watching it melt a little from the heat of his skin, catch any drips with his tongue, make him shiver and writhe and moan… At least now, when Michael does the same to him, he doesn’t wind up with whipped cream in his beard, though Alex does miss that beard sometimes. Loves the handsome face underneath, sure, but he misses the friction burn now and then… and he’d found the beard full of whipped cream endearing, and a little amusing, even if Michael had been anything but happy to discover it, he’d said they were never doing this again right up until he shaved the beard off, and then the first thing he’d done was drag Alex to bed to unveil a can of the stuff…

 

It’s not like it’s a usual thing, but it’s fun when it happens. 

 

They feed each other bites of pie, and now and then Alex steals a little touch, stroking Michael’s cheek, his chest, his belly, his thigh. It isn’t about sex. Much as he’s open to it, it isn’t that, when he reaches for Michael now. Michael’s body knows the difference, relaxes rather than responding with arousal to his touch, lets Alex soothe and comfort them both with the point of connection between them. 

 

“I can put the whipped cream back this time.” He says, setting the empty plate aside. “We can nap a while. Michael… it’ll be okay.”

 

“Sure it will… you belong to me.”

 

“And you belong to me. We’ll be together.” Alex nods. Michael takes his hand, squeezing. 

 

“If they don’t come around by Christmas… it doesn’t mean they won’t, right?”

 

He nods. “We’ll see how long it takes. But yeah… if it takes some time, it takes some time. Until then…”

 

“You belong to me.” Michael repeats.

 

“And you belong to me.”

 

And that, he thinks, that’s all that really matters.


End file.
